


the lingering strength of our love

by WingedFlight



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Calormene mythology, F/F, Fluff, Romance, what happens in narnia doesn't always stay in narnia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 22:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12045579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedFlight/pseuds/WingedFlight
Summary: Her memories are like hands sliding over bare skin.





	the lingering strength of our love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slightlykylie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlykylie/gifts).



It begins (as it always begins) with a voice like warmed butter casting a spell over a cluster of dime-a-dozen diplomats. Smooth but rich, low but strong, the voice weaves through the hall's string-quartet score like a natural part of the music. Lucy, dozing in an alcove, believes at first the sound to be the dream of past lives and lets the memory curl over her like hands sliding across bare skin.

_“--only for the summer months but that will be long enough. You know how it is with my father. He'll spend the entire visit glowering at Timothy--”_

The wall is wood instead of stone, the music a recording rather than live. The phantom voice is jarring against this English backdrop, too familiar for this not-right world. Lucy hovers on a precipice of shock. She is caught by the need to search through every guest; she is also gripped by a paralysing fear that her lonely imagination has run wild again.

Before she can move, a trio of young socialites waltz past her alcove. Lucy identifies the girl with the warmed-butter voice by her dark hair and fight-me eyes. She is possessed with the same spirit Lucy remembers, but walks with an overconfidence untempered by experience; her back has never felt the red-hot heat of a lion's lesson.

(Her skin has never felt the red-hot heat of Lucy's passion.)

+

In the long-ago morning of a left-behind world, Lucy rolls across tangled sheets to whisper greetings in her companion's ear.

The dawn's light is tip-toeing cautiously across the Anvard bedroom, the birdsong muted and distant. Aravis pushes her head beneath the pillow. "I'm still asleep," she grumbles, and Lucy hums a false acknowledgement before tickling her neck.

There's a growl, a laugh, a sharp shriek followed by a heavy thud upon the floor. A blanket slips off the mattress to cover the pair.

"Whatever would I do without you?" asks Aravis after a time, lifting the blanket to create a tent over their heads.

Lucy slides a hand over her lover's, fingers lingering on the sword-made calluses. "Why should we ever part?"

The words are a spun promise, a fragile yet tantalizing fantasy. Aravis leans forward into a kiss and the blanket collapses over them.

+

_My name is Aravis Tarkheena and I am the only daughter of Kidrash Tarkaan, the son of Rishti Tarkaan, the son of Kidrash Tarkaan, the son of Ilsombreh Tisroc, the son of Ardeeb Tisroc who was descended in a right line from the god Tash. Our line began when, upon stepping from the heavens to visit his chosen people of the Southern deserts, the Inexorable Tash fell in love with a daughter of the Calor tribe._

+

In the cool Narnian autumn, Lucy takes Aravis riding through the western forests to visit the dryads of the Dancing Lawn. Their lilting songs can be heard from the very edges of the forest, growing steadily louder as the women draw near.

_There are stories in their songs,_ Lucy always says; Aravis has never believed her. Storytelling is a structured ritual in Calormen, and the Northerner’s wild tales have already stretched Aravis' understanding of the art. Now, as the music carries meaning in every note, Aravis laughs in delight as she finally understands what Lucy has tried unsuccessfully to convey.

"You see?" says Lucy, pleased as punch, and she stretches her arms to the heavens as the leaves dance around her.

+

(Sometimes, on the train or in the street, Lucy thinks she hears Aravis calling her name.

+

_The first time Tash saw Illobeh of the Calor Tribe, she was alone in the desert in search of a hawk. Tash saw the wild tangles of her hair, the flush of her cheeks, and the spring of her step, and was intrigued. Everywhere he had gone, his peoples had been hot and hungry and worn-down from the drought -- but Illobeh appeared untouched by the hardships._

_So Tash took the guise of a hawk and flew to Illobeh, hoping to learn what gave her such energy and light. But the daughter of Calor was no fool; with one look, she knew this was no regular hawk she had found._

_“Speak to me in your true form,” Illobeh commanded, and was only a little frightened when Tash did so. Gathering her courage, she asked, “Why have you come to me, oh Tash of the desert?”_

_The great god told Illobeh that he was curious about a girl so untouched by drought and sorrow. Illobeh explained that the drought affected her just as much as anyone, and dared to suggest that the god wasn’t looking closely enough at his people._

+

When Aravis leans forward, the candlelight flickers across her cheek. “They talked for three long days and nights, at the end of which the god and the desert girl were deeply in love. Then Tash took his leave in order to do as Illobeh had suggested: look closer upon his people and see whether they were truly unhappy.”  

Her hands are folded in her lap, her legs crossed, her back ramrod straight. Lucy lounges among the sheets on the other half of the bed, lazy and relaxed. “And he saw that they were, and called forth the rain?”

“He saw that the people of the desert were hardy and strong, full of life and love despite the harshness of the land. And he wondered again after the girl who had told him of this.”

“He’d better not have just left her forever.”

“I told you,” says Aravis, “They were in love. Even as Tash travelled across the lands, he was still with Illobeh in spirit.”

“You are too romantic. Did he ever return?”

+

_A year and a day passed before Tash returned to the Calor tribe in search of Illobeh. Once again, he took the guise of a hawk as he approached -- for even desert gods can become bashful when consumed with love._

_But Illobeh had not forgotten her previous encounter with the god, nor had the love dwindled in her heart. When the hawk alighted near her, Illobeh slipped off her sandals and shook loose her hair and said,_

+

(On an Oxford street corner in early spring, a whiff of spice teases Lucy to a halt.)

+

_"I see you and know you, Tash of thunder and night, Tash of desert and dying, Tash of the heart. I know you and love you, and I invite you to stay with me until the dawn."_

+

 "I believe we shall never truly part, you and I," says Aravis in the darkest hour of night. "Our souls are connected. I see you in the sun and all the stars--"

"--as I feel you in every breeze--"

"--I hear you in the ocean--"

"--I smell you in the sheets." The words are nearly lost beneath Lucy's giggles.

Aravis breathes a laugh of her own. "Even so. Let the gods witness the strength of our love."

"And may Aslan always light my path back to you."

+

_This is how it has always been:_

_smooth silk slipping off shoulders_

_hot sand, hot skin_

_intermingled oaths to juxtaposed gods_

_and a whisper of love in the tongue of the body._

+

It ends (as it once began) with a voice like warmed butter spinning a tale of romantic adventure to an entranced courtyard gathering. Lucy stands at the back of the crowd, recognizing the shape of the woman's soul in her ramrod posture and crossed hands, in every sharp word and dramatic pause.

_I am with you,_ says her lover from another life.

Lucy lifts her head and breathes in the spice on the wind.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you to my wonderful betas.


End file.
